


Spellbound Legacy

by Left_Handed_Darkness



Series: The assorted journals of a Blood Mage [3]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Character Study, Conversations, Dark Magic, Elven identity politics and existential bullshit, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Left_Handed_Darkness/pseuds/Left_Handed_Darkness
Summary: A Blood Mage and a half-elven necromancer have a discussion about magic, idealism, and what it means to be Sin'dorei.





	Spellbound Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally based on an ask prompt from one videtur-existentiae on Tumblr, requesting a conversation between Khairan & Saviéran. I intended to upload it much earlier, however I must have forgotten at the time.

“You’re more of a Sin’dorei than some of those who claim the title as their own.”

 The necromancer was stunned. For once in his life, he found himself without the words to form a response. Instead, he simply looked up at the Blood Mage; a crimson figure silhouetted against the golden sunset. His hair was like fire against the evening light, and even though the fading sun hurt his eyes, Saviéran was unable to look away from that burning fel gaze.

 “It’s not something I would have expected to hear, not with my past. And not from someone such as yourself.”

 “Then what do you expect?”

 “On an intellectual level, I try to expect nothing. But experience has taught me that few react well to those of my profession. It’s one of life’s little ironies; many of the Quel’dorei see the eyes and the ears, and act as if we’re all one, a family bound by a shared cause and a heritage. But scratch the surface and…”

 Saviéran pulls the glove from his right hand, and rolls up his sleeve. The flesh underneath is scarred and withered, the skin branded, and the bones broken. But over that lies a spidery network of runes, black ink bleeding into desaturated greens and reds. Spellwork aligned with the shadowlands, with blood and bone and plague.

 “And you are no more one of them than I am. Like the Sin’dorei, you wield magic considered sacriligous. Like the Sin’dorei, you walk down the path of the unknown. And like the Sin’dorei, you wear your own spellwork - no matter how  _impolite_  it might be considered.” Khairan smirks, eyes lingering more on the runic tattoos than the necromancer’s face. Saviéran had picked up on that, how the magister’s gaze would shift from an intense stare, to trailing off elsewhere. It was almost as if there was a sense of  _discomfort_  hidden behind that standoffishness.

 “Something people outside of Quel’thalas often forget, is that the Quel’dorei of old never  _did_ tattoos. They considered the matter uncouth - if anything, that is the flaw of those who still carry their namesake. They have no taste for pragmatism, not if it requires them to sacrifice their vaunted purity.”

 “I suppose that’s the flaw of those who have nothing but an ideal to stand on. That they do all they can to  _become_  that ideal and serve it - even if it means sacrificing others to do so. I’ve met humans like that; humans who clung to the idea that the Light would save them and cleanse their lands. Yet do you know what they did? They butchered the people who they could have aided, because they weren’t  _pure_  enough, and didn’t live up to their standards.”

 Saviéran almost put the glove back on, but hesitated. Instead, he pulled the other off, and stuffed both into his overcoat’s pockets.

 “The Scarlet Crusade. Yet another example of humanity at its most ignorant and malevolent.”

 “Perhaps, though I don’t see them as humanity’s only aspect. Throughout my life and the meandering path that I’ve walked, I’ve seen other things. Kindness, selflessness, intelligence; the  _potential_  to be something  _beyond_  the confines of the ignorance built into their society. The willingness to step out from the shadow of laws both temporal and spiritual. Sometimes it’s messy and embarrassing and downright  _irresponsible_ ; but all beginnings are. A child stumbles before taking its first steps, but that doesn’t mean that they shouldn’t  _try_.”

 Khairan pauses, head tilting to the side in a manner that belonged more to a predatory bird than a man. Come to think about it, Saviéran found himself thinking of Khairan as a  _being_ ; as something more than mortal flesh and blood. All of that was a shell; and even if Saviéran’s arcane senses had to be trained further than those of a Quel’dorei, he could feel something  _burning_  behind that superficial matter. Beyond primal fire and terrestrial ley lines.

 “You sound as if you see more in them than those who might see you more as kin.”

 “Not truly. I see little of myself in the lives many of them lead, that’s true; but at the same time I see how they adapt to new challenges, how they come to embrace change once they understand more. I’ve seen them throw propriety to the wind, hope for a better life, and make a stand against the people who would deny them that chance. I won’t deny that they’re flawed - but flaws can be challenged. I’m not a believer in damnation, unless that damnation is self-inflicted and  _aware_.”

 The Blood Mage blinks slowly, then his lips twitch into an almost-mechanical smile. There’s no hostility in it, however - in fact, he seems more  _accepting_ than anything else.

 “I do have a question though.” the necromancer continues, catching those green eyes again.

 “Oh?”

 “You say that I’m more of a Sin’dorei than those who bear that title, even though I’m a stranger to Silvermoon itself. Why is that?”

 Khairan’s right ear twitches. It’s the only movement he makes.

 “There are those within Quel’thalas who would tread backwards. Who see the strides taken and the challenges endured as nothing more than a mark of shame. That their very lives are unworthy, and that they need to be  _redeemed_  by the very Light that abandoned them to their fates - to the point where all that marks them as Sin’dorei has been purged.”

 Khairan’s gaze has become uncomfortably direct at this point, though the meaning is clear.

 Saviéran gestures to his own eyes, the faint glow nowhere nearing the intensity of Khai’s own.

 “Fel magic sets us apart from the Quel’dorei. To them we are impure, tainted, and  _lesser_ ; and to cast that out of ourselves is to admit that they were  _right_ , that the only thing that we deserve is death or the pity of others. And that in the end, we can only be whole if we kneel to the values and condemnations of others - and submit to their wills so that they can  _change us_.” There’s fire in his voice, and the air becomes charged with the tingle of arcane power. In his mind’s eye, Saviéran swears he can glimpse fragments of distant constellations.

 “And I will not kneel to those who would reshape my existence to fit the will of others; nor will I consider them kin.”

 The necromancer focuses on the ground beneath his feet, the breeze against his bare forearms, and the breath within his lungs. “Except I’m no felcaster, and I was never there for the fall.”

 “Even so, you stepped into the unknown and the forbidden. Do you regret that choice at all?”

 “No, not even once. I never looked back, and I never would give up what I did. If I did so, then everything I did to survive and learn what I could would have been for nothing.”

 “Then you have your answer. It is up to you what you do with it.”


End file.
